Unconventional
by Morning Lilies
Summary: Emma and David do not have your typical father-daughter relationship. It's complicated, messy, and sometimes feels impossible to navigate. Collage of moments and missing scenes between David and Emma.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, dear readers. So my relationship with Once Upon a Time is intense and complicated and therefore leaves me with a lot of unresolved feelings that must be channeled somehow to keep my sanity. Normally strings of youtube music videos suffices, but my obsession with Emma and David's unique situation is too much even for that. Truth be told, I'm fascinated by it more than any other relationship… maybe ever. First of all because of the age thing, but secondly because we don't really get to see it develop. We get **_**lots **_**of time devoted to Mary Margaret and Emma's burgeoning friendship – it's clearly delineated as a big step for both of them. And there are a few key episodes devoted to its further development later. But there really isn't much of that for David and Emma. Anything parental is aimed either at Snow and Charming as a unit or taken over by Snow, which I enjoy seeing, too, but I need to understand David's side of things. **

**So this was born of a desire to understand David as a character, to understand both his and Emma's feelings for each other, and to show some more development than the show gives us. This first chapter is pretty cannon (including several direct lines of dialogue, which I super don't own), but the further it goes, the less cannon it may become. I don't really know when or how much I'll be adding onto this, but I thought I might as well toss this into the Once Upon a Time ring since I'm so often lurking there looking for good Charming Family stuff. **

**I do hope somebody enjoys this. Thanks for enduring my above yammer. **

…

He's been pacing the corridor for what feels like ages, staring hard at the firmly shut oak doors, and when they finally open, he's through them so quickly he almost knocks Johanna spinning. Snow is pulling her boots on, bodice already laced firmly back in place and cape fanned out across the bed.

"Is it true, then?" he asks, breathless. "Was Maleficent telling the truth?"

Slowly, she lifts her head, her expression agonizingly inscrutable. Then a smile blossoms across her face. "_Yes._"

He falls back a step with a strangled laugh and she launches herself off the bed, falling into his arms like she was made to fit there and squeezing him with all her considerable strength. He goes for the theatrics, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around, their white and crimson capes swirling together.

When he's set her back down, she lets go, backs up to look at him with shining eyes. "We're going to have a baby."

And even though Maleficent's words hum under the surface of the conversation –_born with the potential for great darkness_– the immediate idea of a baby eclipses it. He's not going to let an evil queen tarnish this happy moment. This child will be theirs and they can protect it. They will protect it.

…

A dark cloud hangs over Snow. The closer they get to the baby's arrival, the darker it seems to grow, enfolding her for hours, even days at a time. She grows quiet, staring off into the distance. Johanna says not to worry. Bringing children into the world is not an easy business, and she wouldn't be the first to have her moods.

But David thinks he knows what she is thinking about. He wishes she wouldn't because it makes him think about it, too, and it scares him. He doesn't want to think about a dangerous, potentially painful future, only the happiness they have right now. But he can't if Snow is restless, so they go to see Him.

…

It takes David until they've emerged from the labyrinth into warm sunlight to regain control of his faculties. Snow is several strides ahead of him, long dark hair billowing.

"Wait," he gasps, out of breath. He grabs for her hand to stop her. "What the hell was…" he trails off, gesturing at the opening to the prison warrens. He is too angry, too stunned to form full sentences.

She lifts her jaw at him, unyielding. He lets his arm drop.

"Is it true?" he asks feebly. "We're having a daughter? And you've already named her?"

"That's what you're concerned about?" she all but cries, and starts again at a furious pace toward the carriage.

Of course that's what he's concerned about. This changes everything. This changes amorphous baby into _daughter_. _His _daughter, real, unique, soon-to-be-here.

"Whatever this curse is, we'll stop it –" he sounds assured. " – but you just gave our _daughter's _name to the Dark One."

He can see here, a dark-haired little girl running through the gardens, twirling in ball gowns as princes stop to stare – crying as she vanishes beneath the Dark One's cloak.

"She's a princess, he'll know her name as soon as she's born," Snow says impatiently. "But it doesn't matter. He says we can't stop it. Only she can stop it."

"He lies," David points out exasperatedly. "The next thing he's going to tell us is the only way to keep her safe from this curse is to hand her over to him."

"He's not lying about this."

"How do you know?"

"Because we made a deal. He can't lie in a deal. He can twist the truth to try to make a loophole, but he can't outright lie, and neither could I."

David swallows. "Where did 'Emma' come from?"

Snow looks down, squeezing his fingers hard. "I don't know… It just sort of, came. It must be what we were going to decide on because I couldn't lie."

"Emma," David murmurs, laying his hand against the side of Snow's stomach. He feels a strong thrust against his palm. The name slides lyrically over his tongue. He is loath to admit it for he'd rather call her anything but the name the Dark One now has, but it sounds right. It feels like her name.

"How much time do you think we have?" Snow asks.

"We'd better call a war council."

He doesn't care what Rumplestiltskin says, he is not going down without a fight.

…

The nursery draws him like a moth to a flame, beautiful in its pain. Snow sleeps restlessly; they can hear the pounding of Geppetto's tools reaches them even in their chamber, a constant reminder of what is about to happen.

It has been two days since the council, since the Blue Fairy gave them a way to save their daughter, and eventually everyone in the Enchanted Forest. He has tried not to think too deeply about the plan, tried to feel only relief that Snow and the baby will be spared. But in the darkness, with the pounding of tools like a heartbeat in his ears, he can't help it.

Careful not to wake Snow, he slides out of bed and finds his way along the short stone passage to the chamber they have been stuffing with furniture and toys, books and paintings from all over the many realms. A week ago, it seemed to him the safest, most splendid room in the entire kingdom. But when he pushes open the heavy oak door, everything about this room draws an ache from deep within his chest.

Emma. Her name is still new on his tongue, and each time he thinks of it, it seems to glitter in a new angle. Although they did not get the chance to decide on it as he had imagined, it feels overwhelmingly right. There is something in the way the syllables fall together that thrills him, and he knows that he would have chosen – in fact, feels that he did choose– this name for his daughter.

He crosses slowly to the crib at pride of place in the middle of the round, glittery room, gilded in moonlight, and runs a hand over the intricately carved wood. Never completely shaking his roots, he had insisted on having a hand in fashioning it. It stands ready to receive a baby that will never touch its blankets. Nothing in here will ever be used. The room feels suddenly like a mausoleum, and he allows it to hit him with its fullest force for the first time: he will never even see this baby they've been so eagerly awaiting for months.

He knows it is not the same as a stillborn child, but the joy-turned-pain of their never-to-be-used nursery feels so much like he's lost her just as she was about to come.

Twenty-eight years, he reminds himself with a great effort. It feels like an eternity, but it will end. And meanwhile, his daughter will be growing up, happy and safe, that is what matters. And he will see the beautiful woman Snow will no doubt mold her into.

But this baby… she will be lost to him. He could wait a hundred years on the promise of seeing Snow again. They will have their happiness, of nothing else has he been more certain. But twenty-eight years is a lifetime for this child. He will not know her when he finally lays eyes on her.

He grips the crib's rail in both hands, squeezing his eyes closed to block out the mockery this room has become. He wishes that he could get this feeling out of his chest. Snow has always known how to soothe the tempests of rage and grief that he cannot manage himself. But she is brimming with her own fears and sorrows. He can tell she is a breath away from crumbling under the impact of it all. For her he must pull it together. For her he must not dwell – must not even think about what he is losing and what is barreling toward him.

He takes a steadying breath. She will be beautiful, Emma. She will be every bit as strong and brave and good as her mother, as his mother. He cannot wait to see that, and that is what he will think of.

…

The plan tumbles off course so alarmingly fast, he has no time to process it. One moment he is kissing his wife, trying to lock away the feel of her to hold onto for the next twenty-eight years, and then the baby is coming and the curse is coming all at the same time and the wardrobe is almost-but-not-quite-done, and by the time it's finished, it's too late. If they try to move her now, they endanger both Snow and the baby.

Snow is screaming in an unbearable amount of pain, screams that rip right through him, and he wants to sob at the thought of her having to endure this alone, as they had planned. In a twisted way, he is glad everything has gone so awry. Snow is not alone for this; none of them will have to be alone for anything. They will be cursed for eternity, but they will be together.

And then she is there. The haze of pain and blood is over, and Doc is holding a tiny, squawling pink thing in his arms. Snow is already reaching for her, desperate, and the moment she has been cleaned up and wrapped in the blanket Granny knitted for her, he places her in her mother's arms.

She is tinnier than David ever imagined, her face round and perfect, her limbs flailing as she screams her heart out.

"Sh-sh-sh, my love. It's alright, it's alright," Snow murmurs, kissing the smooth crest of her head and holding her close. And as the baby quiets, they can hear the sounds of fighting, swords slashing and men shouting, drawing nearer.

It is a vain gesture, but David puts his arms protectively around both of them. At least he'll go with his whole world against his heart.

"The wardrobe," Snow murmurs as though from a great distance. "It only takes one."

She sounds as though she is just realizing this, and it breaks his heart all over again to watch it sweep over her.

"Then our plan has failed," he says. The resignation seems ages old in his own voice. "But at least we're together." This is the only solace he can offer her. There is nothing left for them to do but wait for the storm to crash over them.

"No," Snow says, low and fierce. "You have to take her. Take the baby to the wardrobe."

Determination grows with every word, pulling at the urgency, the hope that he has already let go of.

"Are you out of your mind?" He has already given in; the thought of sending their daughter away now – a nearly impossible prospect before the plan crumbled around them – is beyond his strength.

"No, it's the only way, youhavetosaveher," Snow's words run together with urgency, frantic, utterly unwilling to yield this baby to defeat.

He's shaking his head. "No, no, no, you don't know what you're saying." She's tiny, helpless. If they send her away, they're surely killing her, and maybe that would be kinder than living an eternal curse, but Snow would never suggest that for their child. Delirious from pain or fear, she can't be thinking clearly.

And maybe he doesn't want her to be thinking clearly because he's already let go of the ache of having to give up this baby.

"No, I do!" She gasps and looks him dead in the eyes, steely and unstoppable. "We _have _to believe that she'll come back for us. We _have _to give her her best chance."

Against his will, the words rekindle the fight in him. He looks down at the little, squirming miracle in Snow's arms and knows she's right, knows he will walk through hell itself if there is the wildest chance of saving her from this.

But the ache of losing her twists his stomach. He stoops to kiss her soft forehead, and hopes she'll feel the residual waves of this – this kind of love nothing else has ever prepared him for until he can take her in his arms again.

Snow is crying again, silently, but so hard it might break her.

"Goodbye, Emma," she whispers, her tears running down Emma's cheeks as she presses her lips to the baby's forehead.

Then David takes all seven pounds of her into his arms. She fits there, right in the crook of his elbow, the bottoms of her feet snug against his palm. He can't believe he's doing this. He kisses Snow hard, the baby pressed one last time safely between them. And then he rushes for their one slim chance at salvation.


	2. Chapter 2

"So it's true?"

They both spin around. Emma, Emma, _Emma_. He staggers back a step as the realization sweeps over him. This must be her. From the look on Snow's face, she's already put it together.

It's like two different people are standing before him in one body. One of them is Sheriff Swan, Mary Margaret's protective-in-a-good-way friend who doesn't totally approve of him. Sheriff Swan who's fighting for custody of her precocious but delusional little boy. Sheriff Swan who brought David in for questioning about his missing wife, who carries a gun, and who knows how to hold her own in a throw-down.

He knows this woman, has talked to her dozens of times, usually not under the best circumstances. But suddenly he doesn't know her at all. She's the baby he almost died trying to protect, the woman he's been waiting all this time to meet. She's both at once, an awkward acquaintance and his daughter who's a stranger, and he is completely at a loss to reconcile them.

She's not what he had imagined, not the spitting-image of her mother who's been searching for them her whole life. She's blond and leather and all edges and the only one not euphoric at the broken curse.

In fact, as Snow approaches her slowly, cautiously, hands over her mouth and staring reverently, Emma looks extremely uncomfortable and more than a little freaked. It doesn't really help when Snow cups her cheek like it's made of glass and says tearfully, "You found us," then hugs her as if the world's ending – which is understandable, since it kind of did. Only Emma doesn't remember that part of it, and she stands still as a statue as Snow clings to her, eyes rather wide.

On the one hand, David sympathizes because Mary Margaret is Emma's best friend and now she's acting like Emma's the most precious thing in the world and that has to be beyond disconcerting. But on the other hand, all David wants to do is take her in his arms again and reassure himself that she's alright, that it worked, that she's not gone forever.

Even though the part of him that sees Sheriff Swan knows this will freak her out even more, that parental instinct that's lain dormant for twenty-eight years wins over. Snow has her pretty well capitalized, but he finds a part of her to hold onto, draw her close. His eyes close. She's real and warm and right here. His head drops with the first real, true breath of relief.

Things are going to be complicated, but at least, finally, they're together.

…

"We shouldn't have to do this," Snow says as they gather brooms and gasoline.

"We _don't_ have to," David points out. "This isn't our battle. Regina pissed off Rumplestiltskin, and these are the consequences. If she can't save herself, it's her own fault."

"We can't just let her die," Snow insists.

"Why the hell not?" David demands. "She _ruined _our lives. We don't owe her any favors."

He's angry. He didn't think he had the energy to be anything but a puddle of relief and happiness at the end of this nightmarish ordeal, but it turns out he's furious.

"Maybe not, but she's still Henry's mother, and Henry's happiness means everything to Emma, and how do you suppose Emma will look at us if we don't help her with this?"

He says nothing, but grudgingly throws the brooms into the back of his pickup truck.

"I meant," Snow says, picking up her lament as they swing themselves into the cab, "that we finally have our daughter back. We should be with her, not dealing with another crisis."

David can see how badly Snow wants this. But he also sees how dangerous that desire is.

"I don't think she really wants to be around _us, _though," he cautions, and sees the hurt flash across Snow's face before she turns to the window. He reaches for her hand. "It's a lot to process. Her entire world reinvented itself today. We've got the rest of our lives to spend with her, we _can't_ push this." He squeezes her fingers for emphasis because he's afraid of what might happen if Snow lets her own emotions get in the way.

David feels like an arbiter in this standoff, trying to hold Snow back, trying to keep Emma close. It's like he's watching everything from a distant vantage point. He understands Snow's yearning to have Emma back, to claim her as theirs, to love her and mother her and fill that aching hole sending her away left. But he also sees the completely overwhelmed look in Emma's face whenever she looks at them. He doesn't know much about her, but he's always been aware of the don't-cross-me spikes she brandishes. She doesn't want anyone standing too close, so he's going to back up as much as possible.

He wonders if this makes him a bad parent, that he doesn't share the same overpowering need to hold her, that his first instinct is to back away slowly. He wonders if it even still qualifies as parenting when your kid's the same age you are. He doesn't know. He doesn't know what they're supposed to be for each other. He just doesn't want to scare her away.

This crisis might be a good thing. It will give them all time to let the dust settle. And once it's over, then they can sort out how to put their family back together.

…

"How're you holding up?" Red asks when she drops Henry off after school.

She's all sympathy, and he thinks for a second how he's almost spent more time with Red looking for Snow than he has actually living peacefully with his wife. Snow once asked if this was all their life would be, taking turns finding each other.

"It must be hard, just getting them back and then losing them both at the same time," Red says, flopping down into a kitchen chair.

He swallows and nods. But he doesn't deserve the sympathy Irish hot chocolate she's brought him. It's not hard for the reasons she thinks. It's hard to watch Henry missing the one person he needs most with all the turbulence between him and Regina. It's _so _hard to be surrounded by Snow's things – even if most of them are more like Mary Margaret than Snow – and not having her there too. And every time he thinks of his daughter, it's getting harder and harder, but not for the reasons everyone thinks. He misses the little girl he was going to have. He misses the woman Snow would have raised. He misses Emma like he would have missed Sheriff Swan.

He wants her back for Henry's sake. He wants her back because she's equipped for this world, not the Enchanted Forest. He wants her back because no one deserves to be ripped away from everything they know. But when he does get her back… he won't have his daughter back.

He'll _never _get his daughter back, and every day it sinks in a little deeper.

…

It's easier with Henry. At first, it was a little rough. It took him a little time to adjust to having someone so dependent on him that it demanded his constant attention. He had to get used to being at the bus stop at 3:15 every day, no exceptions, at checking his cell phone every half hour in case the kid skipped school again, or needed to be picked up, or just tried to call him. He had to learn how to think about vegetables and fruit and how to make them appetizing, how to sleep with one ear open, how to think like a ten-year-old. But all of that isn't as difficult as he'd thought.

It comes naturally. He finds he knows what to say almost all the time. Usually his tactics at distraction or cheering up are successful. He likes the companionship, the weight of responsibility, the knowledge that he's succeeding at making someone's life better.

But it's easy because Henry is so loose with his trust, so free with his affection. It doesn't take much with him because he craves David's attention and approval. Whatever his maternal situation, he's never had much of a father figure. He's all but throwing himself into David's heart.

And he fills the hole there better than Emma does – or would. He got her back and lost her all in one day, so she hasn't had much chance to do the filling, but David knows it won't be with her like it is with Henry. Henry's still a child, after all. He still needs and wants the things David was preparing to give as a parent.

Henry fits better than Emma will. And the thought already makes him feel guilty.

…

**A/N: Don't get upset or anything at the lack of Charming fluffiness. It will come eventually, but David – and Emma – have a lot of difficult things to work through before they can have it. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: fair warning, we're veering a little off the cannon storyline here, since this is where I started to get pretty upset with the writers' lack of ability to deal with, um, anything. Mostly I'm just disregarding the more ridiculous storylines and giving a little more development where it's needed. Don't hate me. **

They're back, they're back, and at last they'll have their moment of peace.

Granny's is packed. Everyone is feeling the real end of the curse. Snow and David are together; they have their family. People have settled into their new lives, found a way to reconcile old and new. Regina is peacefully away. There are no threats on the horizon. There's a lot to celebrate.

"To our happy endings!" one of the dwarfs – he was never quite sure who was who – cries a bit drunkenly.

"Shut up, don't jinx it!" Leroy snaps at him. David at least knows Grumpy.

"How about to having Snow and Emma back," Red proposes and a cheer rises up.

David can't help but sneak a sideways glance at Emma, pressed up on Snow's other side with Henry leaning drowsily on her shoulder. He's been sneaking furtive glances at her all night.

Obviously, something's changed between her and Snow, or maybe gone back to the way it used to be with Mary Margaret. She's much more indulgently tolerant of Snow's frequent side-hugs and hand-grabs.

The awkwardness between Emma and David, however, has only grown thicker. He can't seem to look at her directly – it still feels like he's staring at someone he only knows peripherally, breaking an unwritten rule of polite interaction. And from what he can tell between sidelong looks, she's doing a pretty good job of avoiding his direction, too.

He's worrying now about if he should have hugged her. He hasn't since she's been back. He missed that part of the reunion, and when he woke up, Snow had him and Henry had Emma and everyone was watching, and she just doesn't seem very big on hugs in general. But that's what family does after being apart, isn't it? Has he sent the message that he didn't miss her, or that he doesn't really see her as family? Well, in a lot of ways both those things are true, but he doesn't want _her _to feel that way.

But what if she doesn't want to see him as family? He wouldn't blame her. Mary Margaret was her friend before all of the madness, so it's natural for her to want to retain that bond, but she may well want nothing to do with him. He's the one who "put her in a box and shipped her to Maine" as Regina put it, after all. And David Nolan really wasn't a great first impression.

Henry tries valiantly to stay awake, but all the Mountain Dew in Granny's is not up for the task. Emma coaxes him to the truck, taking him on her lap even though he's far too big so they can all fit on the bench seat, but by the time they make it home, he's out for the count. David carries him up to the apartment.

He lays Henry gently in the tangle of sheets on Emma's bed, and Emma moves in at once, working on the buttons of his coat, not wholly aware of anything else. There's something in the way she sits, an unwillingness to be out of arm's reach of Henry. For the first time, David can see Snow in her.

Snow has slipped off eagerly for a hot shower, and David is suddenly conscious of the two of them being effectively alone. He moves as unobtrusively as he can for the stairs, but she's still a cop, and the movement makes her turn automatically.

They're eyes meet for the first time, and suddenly he's caught in an obligation to say something.

He opens his mouth, hoping the words will come to him. "I'm glad you're back…. He really missed you," he nods at Henry.

"I missed him, too," she says quietly and goes back to getting Henry out of his coat.

…

"You don't have to go, you know," he tells Emma as he pulls her suitcase off the top shelf for her. He's surprised at how much he doesn't want her going with Mr. Gold, how much it feels like watching a wolf carry off a rabbit.

He turns around just in time to see her slide her gun into its holster. He knows Emma's no rabbit, but she still doesn't know Rumplestiltskin like he does, and that _does _make her vulnerable. Her _and_ Henry.

"I do have to do this, actually," she says, throwing clothes into the suitcase at top speed. "We made a deal, and if you haven't noticed, he seems kind of crazy with Belle gone."

David bites his lip. "We should come with you, then."

Emma pauses long enough to roll her eyes at him. "And leave Regina in charge of Storybrooke again? Excellent plan."

"I could go and Mary Margaret could stay here, or the other way around maybe, but –"

"I may not be the best shot against trolls, but I can handle Mr. Gold," Emma says tersely, and he can tell his proposal has slighted her.

"He's not Mr. Gold anymore," he points out. "Whatever you thought you knew about him before doesn't matter anymore. We've dealt with Rumplestiltskin before."

"Look, not that I don't appreciate the offer, David," she says, impatient, "but I made this deal and I'm taking care of it myself."

"With Henry?" David asks.

"He's my son. I can take care of him," she says, not exactly coolly, but it reminds him that she's never needed help before, and just like that Emma's gone and she's Sheriff Swan again. He backs down.

…

He's a little jealous, though. That it's so easy for Snow. That she seems to have found something of their daughter that he can't find. Emma calls her, tells her things she'd never even discuss with David in the room. It helps that Snow is four years older than Emma, and it doesn't help that he's exactly the same age.

And, if he's honest, he doesn't really _want _to feel paternal toward her because… it's absurd, but it feels like he would be trying desperately to replace the daughter he lost with a stand-in. Maybe it would be different if it seemed like there was a place for him in her life, but thinking of her as his daughter feels like forgetting that baby he was supposed to have. And he _can't _forget her. He can't let that little girl go.

But all the same, watching his wife have something of a maternal connection while he sits there feeling nothing… it's strange and difficult.

…

David knows he didn't fully understand the Neal situation, but he's not expecting the hurricane it brings to the apartment. He and Snow are upstairs with Henry, listening to him babble eagerly about the first day he got to spend with his father as he lines up a small stash of treasure they made out with at the arcade. When they hear the screaming, they both jump for the door, thinking of Cora, of someone or something attacking the house, maybe even an ordinary burglar. When they reach the top of the stairs, Henry hot on their heels despite Snow's orders for him to stay put, what they find is completely unexpected.

Emma is hurling things across the room as hard as she can, books, shoes, plastic bowls, even, maybe accidentally, a heavy flashlight which thankfully misses Neal by several feet, cracking against the brick wall behind him and falling to the floor in several pieces. Other things don't miss, though. A book hits him in the stomach, a metal tin glances off his elbow, but he just stands there, arms held up to protect his face, and all the while she's shouting.

"…your fault, it's your fault! You can't show up here with your new _fiancé _and say you did anything out of love. You know something, Neal? I hateyou, I _hate_ you! You're a – selfish – fucking – bastard!"

"_Emma!_"

David and Snow have clattered down the stairs without her noticing. She spins, frying pan in hand and hair in her face, breathing hard. David reaches automatically to wrest the frying pan from her, but she backs up.

"I swear to god, David, if you touch me right now I will _brain _you."

He doesn't test her. Instead, he turns to Neal. "Okay, I think you better go."

"No!" Emma snaps. She drops the frying pan with an echoing bang. "You don't get to leave again. It's my turn to leave." She's already gathering up her keys, her jacket, her boots, pulling them on haphazardly as she brushed past him for the door.

"Emma," Snow says, half-plea, half-warning, and she turns around, one foot already out the door.

That's when she notices Henry, sitting at the top of the stairs with his arms wrapped around the metal railing, watching her with huge eyes. She freezes for a second, face crumpling in regret, but she's too far gone to pull the breaks.

David hears a soft "_Fuck_" before the door slams and she's gone.

They stand in the partially destroyed apartment for a half a minute in silence before Henry jumps up and races for the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Neal looks after him, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll go…" Snow trails off and hurries back up the stairs. They hear her knock, calling quietly through the door, "Henry?"

"Sorry about that," David says awkwardly, starting to pick up some of the scattered projectiles. He feels like the last thing Neal deserves is an apology, but he doesn't know what else to say.

"No," Neal sighs heavily. "She's right. I deserved everything she threw at me. Just wish the kid didn't have to see it. It's a good thing we didn't try to raise him, I suppose."

Neal helps David clean up. Snow comes down just before he leaves to tell them Henry's asleep and she thinks he's alright. She's tried to explain things, she says with a pointed look at Neal.

"I'm sorry, I really am," he says one last time before leaving.

Something has changed, something fundamental. For the first time, David has seen the mess that she's hiding under all that iron armor. All he wants to do is help her, let her know he's on her side no matter what. For the first time, he feels he could be needed in her life after all, even if he isn't really wanted.

…

Emma's yellow bug sits on the shoulder in front of the Storybrooke sign. Emma herself is shivering in the misty drizzle at the repaired toll bridge. She isn't going to leave. Of course she isn't. But damn if she doesn't feel like it.

She'd almost tricked herself into thinking she'd changed, thinking maybe she could mean something to someone and not fuck it all up. But who is she kidding? Even when she was a big-eyed, sweet-smiled baby she hadn't managed that. She can't do this. She burns through people and places, that's the only way she knows how to keep going. She's a girl on fire.

The problem is that she's so angry, all the time. And either it blazes righteously on her skin because the world burned first and it deserves to be burned right back, or she swallows it in fear of ending up alone in a charred wasteland. But then it just burns on the inside, licking at her heart as she hates everything about herself.

**A/N: A little Emma, finally, getting to her side of things. Like I said, I don't know when or how much I'll update this, but I have appreciated your lovely comments! Thank you :)**

**P.S. if you're interested, some songs that have really gotten me in the groove for this story are "Gone, Gone, Gone" by Phillip Phillips, "I Lived" by One Republic and "Human" by Christina Perri. **


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